7 comments:

You have reminded me which side of the bank we are on, and how near/far is the other shore.

Here is Virgil on the souls of the dead, massed in a woeful throng on the river banks of the Underworld:

"...as many as the leaves that fall in the first cold Autumn... as many as the birds that gather [glomerantur] when the old year drives them across the sea..."

In Virgil, the souls remain obliged to stay on the far bank and "float hovering" [volitant] about "those shores" until, after a hundred years, they are permitted to return to the watery fens and marshes [stagna] that they yearn for [exoptata].

Ten days ago I was standing on that shore and feeling that last coldness of touch, and I hope you'll all forgive me for marking my dear Christine's embarkation here, but these words and images help me hold and shape barely speakable feelings. Near and far. Leaf and frost. Volitant.

These images are so beautiful and comforting, Tom. I haven't said much about your postings this year, but I cherish and read them everytime they arrive. May your & your loved ones Christmas be kind, and your 2012 healthy, sane (as needed) and warm. Much love, Andrei

That I should read this post at the same time as I've begun re-reading Thomas Browne's Hydriotaphia is supremely appropriate. The most profound things of life & death are also frigidly simple, still but expectant. Virgil knew this better than most, surely.